A Question of Attitude
by volley
Summary: Friend In Need. Checking on Malcolm after his walk on the comet with Travis, Trip does a bit of character exploration. Coda to Breaking the Ice.


This is set right at the beginning of Season One and takes into consideration, actually, more than just the episode for which it is meant as a coda. I hope I got the characters right for that timeline!

RoaringMice beta read.

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Trip chuckled to himself as he exited the turbo-lift with a step that was lighter than it had been that entire day. Archer's face, just now on the Bridge, when he – Trip – had respectfully refused to tell him what 'that' between T'Pol and himself 'had all been about', had been priceless.

_Get over it, Jon. I know more than you do about her, now._

Deep down, however, Trip had to acknowledge that the notion, and the smug satisfaction that went with it, gave him a pang of conscience. He and Archer had put up a solid, common front against the Vulcans for as long as he could remember; they had been teaming up in their distrust of them since the days of the first Warp 2 test flights. Hell, it wasn't so long ago that they had shared sarcastic glances in Archer's ready room, when T'Pol had first reported for duty. So now the idea that he instead shared glances with her, leaving Archer out, made him feel a little bit of a traitor to their camaraderie.

And yet it was… refreshing.

Most of all, what was refreshing was the idea that T'Pol had chosen to remain on Enterprise, defying tradition, a would-be husband and pissed-off in-laws. And why? Because he, Charles Tucker III, had pointed out to her that she should ask herself what she wanted to do with her life. What was refreshing, also, was the notion that an important step had been taken; that there need be no friction between them – this Vulcan and her Human crewmates. There could be respect, instead. She had respected his advice; Archer had respected hers – to use Vanek's tractor beam – swallowing his pride.

All that really put a bounce in Trip's step as he rounded the last corner and headed for the EV-suits locker-room. The Shuttle bringing Malcolm and Travis back from their misadventure on that comet had just returned, and Trip wanted to check on them.

As he approached, the door opened and Travis limped out, clad in the thin grey undersuit, one arm slung around a medic's shoulders, and Phlox behind him.

"Uh-oh," Trip greeted with a grimace, flattening against the wall to make room as they approached. "You okay, Travis?"

The helmsman winced. "Slipped on the ice and sprained something in my knee," he hissed. "But the Doc says it's not serious."

"Nothing that can't be fixed," Phlox confirmed, in his positive voice.

Trip chuckled. "I always thought skiing was a dangerous sport," he quipped.

Travis shot him an amused look, and Trip watched the awkward progress towards Sickbay for a moment; then turned back and let himself inside the locker-room.

Malcolm was sitting on a bench, still wearing his EV suit. Looking up at the sound of someone entering, he met Trip's eyes and something subtly changed in him, as he slipped into the 'proper officer' mould. But for about a second Trip had caught him unguarded, and that had been enough.

Now, if T'Pol had at least the excuse of being Vulcan, this man here wasn't; although as far as Trip was concerned he might as well be, for the little or nothing he shared of his feelings. Take now, for example. The troubled look in his eyes had been carefully shoved behind, and he was pretending everything was just peachy. Sure thing.

"Commander," the Lieutenant said in a deep voice, breaking his immobility. He stood and picked up his breast-plate from the bench, his movements a bit stiff.

"Welcome back."

Trip watched Malcolm grab the piece of equipment and stack it with a grunt in its holding unit.

"Thanks," was the muttered reply, on the tail of a blown-out breath.

The man was a mess. His face was drawn and covered with perspiration; his hair, generally well-groomed, matted to his head. Trip felt an impulse of empathy: any protracted physical activity in those heavy EV suits really sucked the life out of you.

"Fun outing?" he enquired, following Malcolm's movements as he also put away Travis's breastplate.

The Lieutenant turned to shoot him a look. For sure it must be clear the question was ironic? He and Travis had risked being sealed forever in an icy tomb, what else would the question be, if not ironic? But Malcolm looked to be giving it consideration, if that frown was something to go by; and suddenly Trip wasn't sure anymore himself, because actually there _had_ been an element of fun on that away mission.

"Up to a certain point, yes," Malcolm finally replied. "After that…" He trailed, eyebrows going up eloquently. Taking his and Travis's gloves, he shoved them away with revealing energy.

"Took a rather nasty turn, huh?"

Trip crossed his hands over his chest and leaned with his back against the door, almost pinned there by the tension in the air. It would be simple to just throw something like 'well, I'm glad that in the end everything turned out fine' and leave, but… But today he had caught a glimpse of Malcolm Reed that didn't really fit in with the idea he had formed of the man, during these first few weeks of their mission, and he was intrigued.

Malcolm bent to pick up Travis's discarded EV suit from the floor, and there was a sharp intake of air; his hand shot to his lower back.

"You okay?"

Trip frowned in concern. It couldn't have been easy on the bones to drop eighteen meters with the Shuttlepod, into that chasm. And then again another – what – nine metres, when the damn grappler's mag-lock hadn't held.

"Fine, Sir. Just a twinge," was the quick reply.

Clenching his jaw against what was obviously more than that, Malcolm straightened, placed Travis's suit on its hanger, and put it away neatly on the rack.

"You'd better have Phlox take a look at you," Trip insisted. He felt a bit responsible; those added nine metres of fall might have been avoided. It would be good to make sure nothing was cracked.

Cutting grey eyes zoned in on him, virtually casting daggers.

"I beg to disagree, Commander. With all due respect, I'd know if I needed the Doctor's care."

The tone was prickly, openly confrontational, if formal; but the breakthrough with T'Pol had put Trip in too much of a good mood to let anything spoil it. And – what the hell: if he'd been able to communicate with a Vulcan, he oughtta be able to get through to this stubborn man too.

"What's the matter, Loo-tenant: afraid the Doc's gonna stick some of his creatures on ya?" he drawled, with one of his defusing grins.

Malcolm pulled a grimace and made a disgusted sound at the back of his throat; then started undoing the fastenings of his own EV suit, all the while trying to pull off his boots from a standing position. All he managed was to trip over his own feet. Trip tried to catch him but wasn't fast enough.

A heavy curse of British make echoed in the room as the Lieutenant ended up draped over a bench.

"Easy, haven't you had enough of fallin' for one day?" Trip threw him playfully, offering a hand to help him regain a standing position.

Malcolm didn't take it, pulling straight on his own. Straight? In disbelief Trip realised he was standing at attention, gaze fixed ahead.

"I apologise, Sir," the man said tightly, clearly choking back a good deal of frustration. "That wasn't proper language for an officer."

Trip took a step back to get a better look at him. This man was something else.

"Look," he said, purposefully countering the clipped accent with his most laid-back Southern drawl. "Why don't ya forget about the 'Commanders' and 'Sirs' for the time bein', and curse as loud as you want."

The grey eyes darted back to him with a mix of relief and dismay in them. Plus a big question mark. Trip captured them.

"Ya know, it's perfectly alright to feel shaken after what you just went through," he went on. "You risked big down there. So let it out, for heaven's sake." Tongue-in-cheek, he concluded, "I won't tell anyone."

Malcolm studied him for a moment; then heaved a deep breath, starting to pull the EV suit from off his shoulders.

"It's not that," he said quietly.

"Then what?" Trip wondered.

Letting the suit fall down below his hips, Malcolm dropped to sit back on the bench, looking exhausted. He passed an arm over his sweaty brow. "I haven't been up to standard, lately," he forced out in a low, uncomfortable voice.

Trip made a quick mental survey of the past few weeks.

"What the hell are you talkin' about?"

It didn't seem to him that their Armoury Officer had performed any worse than the rest of them, since they had started out on their mission.

Malcolm sighed. "Commander..."

"Trip."

The correction was received with a grimace of discomfort. "Must we really have this conversation?" A short, sarcastic huff introduced the next bit. "Because – believe me – it will lead nowhere."

Trip put his hands on his hips, like his mother used to do when she wanted to get through to him. "We'll see about that. Meanwhile, why don't you start tellin' me what's buggin' you?" With an innocent smile he added the magic words. "That's an order."

Malcolm looked back coldly for a moment. Finally, he lifted his eyebrows. "Aye, Sir," he drew out none too happily.

Pulling his EV suit from off his feet, he got up to place it on its hanger.

"On that planet, Terra Nova," he started awkwardly, darting a furtive glance back. "I lost my bearings in those bloody tunnels, when I should have kept track of our way out. So I got shot," he spat out bitterly; tagging, under his breath, "At least it was me and not the Captain."

Trip watched him place the hanger on the rack; then brace a hand against his lower back and bend to pick up his EV-suit boots.

"Barely am I out of Sickbay," he continued, straightening back up with a grunt, "when we go to that monastery, P'Jem, where I give another lovely performance." He shook his head despondently. "I should have checked the place was safe, before letting you three go down to it; should have enforced better security protocols with the Captain. It's my damn job to keep him safe, to anticipate potential threats." Words fast and biting like bullets, he ranted, "Captain Archer doesn't seem to know anything about –"

Freezing with this boots in mid-flight towards their destination, Malcolm cut himself off, and Trip's eyebrows lifted in surprise; then the man shoved them into their compartment and turned to dart him a self-conscious glance. "Not that I don't think the Captain is a fine Commanding Officer, Sir. But I was concerned about him. About all of you, of course," he corrected himself uncomfortably.

"And today," he went on hoarsely as he collapsed with his back against the lockers, "I wasn't even smart enough to figure out that a blast on such a small comet would shift its axis." He snorted in self-contempt. "The great expert of explosives, and it didn't even cross my bloody mind, distracted as I was with…"

Again he cut himself off, concluding darkly, "I promised the Captain we'd be out of it with time to spare; but ended up cutting it too closely. My lack of professionalism endangered not only my life but that of a fellow crewman. That's inexcusable."

Trip sucked on his teeth as they rode the silence, both leaning back, both with their arms crossed, though he – Trip – more or less at ease, while Malcolm clearly tense and in emotional discomfort. The grey gaze was now carefully averted, fixed on some spot on the deck-plating.

"I think you're lookin' at things from a slightly distorted perspective, Lieutenant," Trip said quietly after a moment. "It's a question of attitude."

He remembered welcoming the away team back, in the launch-bay, after the Terra Nova incident. Malcolm had limped out of the Shuttlepod on his own, looking weak and feverish but somehow also so damn dependable, and Trip had felt a new respect for the man and what he had done. He had known the Armoury Officer had a strong sense of duty, but for the first time, then, he had sensed there was something running a lot deeper; a staunchness, a loyalty that put him in a different light.

"At Terra Nova you may have got a little lost, but took a bullet in the leg because you were protectin' the Capt'n's escape; I see nothin' shameful in that," he said firmly. "And then, to help the mission, you agreed to be held hostage, stay behind injured and alone among hostiles, in those damp caves ninety metres underground; and from what I saw of you afterwards it can't have been a pleasant few hours."

Malcolm licked his lips and opened his mouth to speak, but Trip raised a hand to stop him.

"At P'Jem you kept your head when you found yourself in command of the ship under difficult circumstances; and then you headed the rescue mission, which didn't turn out all that bad, now, did it?" Trip smiled. "Now, I'll grant you – the Capt'n does tend to be a bit impulsive; but I guess none of us expected to face so many dangers out here. Not even you, I bet."

"That, unfortunately, is true."

They shared a look; then Malcolm started to unzip also his grey undergarment, and carefully stepped out of it, remaining in his blue T-shirt and briefs. He grabbed a towel, and buried his face in it.

"You'll tame the wild man, yet, Lieutenant," Trip joked, breaking in a warm chuckle when Malcolm re-emerged to shoot him a look of horror; no doubt for his bold choice of words.

With a shake of his head, Malcolm dropped the towel and picked up his black undershirt. "Fine. But that still leaves out today, Commander," he said in challenge.

"Trip."

"What can you tell me about today, _Trip_?" He shoved one arm into a sleeve.

His name had sounded like the crack of a whip. Trip grinned and shook his head as well. Holy smoke, this man really _was_ something else. Apparently he was looking forward to being told just what a jerk he'd been today. Alright.

"Well, I've got to admit, Lieutenant: I hadn't expected to see you act like you did today," he said very seriously. He bit his lip, lest he break into a grin. "You really surprised me."

Malcolm stopped buttoning up his shirt, looking suddenly worried. "Do you think the Captain will put an official reprimand in my file?" he wondered, straightening his frame as if readying it to shoulder a burden.

"You _pleasantly_ surprised me," Trip specified, a laugh bubbling inside him as he watched the expression on the other man's face change to puzzlement, with a touch of what looked, suspiciously, like disappointment.

"What do you mean?" Malcolm demanded in confusion.

"It was refreshin'…"

Trip paused; yeah, something else that had been refreshing that day.

"It was refreshin' to see that you can have some plain fun," he continued. "That was some snowman you helped Travis build." Trip finally let that laugh out. "You should've heard some of the comments around the ship."

Malcolm looked back uncomprehendingly. Then his eyes widened. "Did _everybody_ see that snowman?" he asked in despair.

"Pretty much," Trip replied with a shrug. "The Capt'n had decided to relay the viewscreen image all over the ship, so that all the crew could follow the mission. As soon as the word started goin' around that you two had built a Vulcan snowman, people were crowdin' around the monitors to get a good look."

There was a groan, and Malcolm hung his head, scrunching his eyes shut. "Travis and I had been joking about doing something to celebrate man's first walk on a comet," he breathed out. "I got carried away."

"Well, it's understandable. We're all chompin' at the bit to be chosen for a mission, and you were makin' history out on that comet; of course you forgot yourselves." Trip grinned. "But I saw a playful streak there which I hadn't suspected in you. You hide it well, Loo-tenant."

Malcolm's head snapped back up. "I should have kept my mind on the job. I was the ranking officer. And instead I made a fool of myself in front of the entire crew, and almost got the two of us killed," he said harshly. "Don't try to make me feel good about it, Commander; because it's… it's just not _right_." Something close to physical pain painted itself on his face, as he spat out in his clipped British accent, "My behaviour was despicable."

He grabbed his blue uniform and shoved a foot into a trouser leg.

Trip watched him for a moment, not sure whether it was worth continuing this conversation. Maybe Malcolm was right; maybe it was going to lead nowhere. This man was way too complicated for his own good, so why waste any more time?

"I screwed up too, today," he found himself blurting out, instead, totally unexpectedly.

The grey gaze came back to him, vulnerable, looking as if its owner were still trying to understand what had gone wrong with him; how to find himself again. And now also what this meant.

"I was the one who shot the grappler lines," Trip explained. "Rushed and didn't do such a great job; missed with one. And we had no time for a second try. With both lines in place, the mag-locks would've probably held, we could've reeled you safely in."

Suddenly Trip was gripped once more by the anguish of that moment, which he had thought well past and buried. He had known fear, up on the Bridge, today.

"When the pod fell again I felt my blood run cold," he mumbled. "You two were slippin' through my fingers, and I was helpless." He swallowed. "If that Vulcan ship with her tractor beam hadn't been around…" he said quietly, unable to finish the thought.

They looked at each other, and something passed between them. Some sort of understanding.

"It can't have been an easy target, Sir," Malcolm finally said, grey eyes softening. "I'm sure you tried your best."

Trip lifted his eyebrows. "Ah – so I can be forgiven, but not you?"

"I like to be quite strict with myself," was the terse reply.

"No kiddin'."

"I need to. Ultimately, it's for the good of the ship."

Darting him the umpteenth awkward glance, Malcolm zipped up his uniform. "It's different," he insisted. "You clearly tried your best. I was bloody well incompetent." He reached for his black boots.

"I appreciate that, Malcolm," Trip said firmly. "That you're pissed off because you feel you didn't do your job well. But nobody's perfect. We're up against new situations, here. Let's face it: we won't always be prepared, and are bound to make mistakes. Best we can do is learn from those mistakes and move past them, if we are to survive."

Malcolm heaved a deep breath; then let it slowly out, shoulders slumping. "Right," he croaked out. "It's… a hard lesson, sometimes."

"Tell me about it," Trip said deadpan. "Don't forget, you're speakin' to the man who got pregnant."

That brought a wince of sympathy onto the Lieutenant's face.

Silence fell again, but some of the tension in the air had been released; it felt more comfortable.

"You know, it was a shame you couldn't leave that Vulcan snowman standin'," Trip said after a moment, with a determined change of tone.

Malcolm looked up sharply, taking in Trip's smile and seemingly gauging whether he could allow himself some light comment.

Finally his mouth curved up too, a bit tentatively. "I thought it was a fitting dummy, for _Archer_'scomet," he said in amusement. "Go forward a few months, and I bet the picture would've been in all astrology books." Returning serious, he added, "I'm just not certain our Second in Command would've appreciated that." He stood, feeling the front of his uniform to make sure it was right.

"Hmm, I don't know about that. Our Subcommander is quite different from what she seems," Trip let slip, his mind drifting to what he had involuntarily learnt about T'Pol.

For sure their Vulcan resident had a mind of her own, which neither family nor the High Command could totally control. And it seemed she rather liked her assignment on this Earth ship, or she would've packed and gone with Vanek. It was going to be interesting to see how she would adapt to her Human crewmates, in the months to come.

Trip refocused on inquisitive grey eyes.

"Have I missed something, Sir?" Malcolm wondered, with a hint of curiosity.

"Trip."

Malcolm licked his lips. "So, what happened while we were gone… Trip?"

Still a bit awkward but better. A lot better. Trip shot the man a satisfied look.

"Quite a bit. For example, we recorded a tape for Ms. I-can't-remember-her-name's elementary class, answering some of the children's questions. Hoshi talked about the UT, Phlox about germs in space, and I…" Trip rolled his eyes. "The Capt'n asked me to explain what happens to the waste when we flush our toilets."

"I hope you made up something wicked," Malcolm said in a naughty voice.

Trip chuckled. "Then we had to decipher a mysterious message in code," he went on. Seeing Malcolm react to that, he hurried to reassure, "Which ended up bein' nothing of importance."

Triggering the door open, he preceded the Lieutenant out into the corridor.

"What else? Ah, yes: the Subcommander asked my advice on… But that, actually, isn't somethin' I'm free to talk about," he amended, with a shrug. Deadpan, he added, "All I can tell you is that yours truly really put his foot in his mouth, at some point, today."

Malcolm cast him a narrowed-eyed glance; his mouth twitched. "Sounds like it was quite a day," he commented.

"And that's not all," Trip continued. "The best part was when the Capt'n – bless his generous heart – invited Vanek, the Vulcan Captain, for dinner." He shot Malcolm a look. "Hell, you should've seen us tryin' to get a conversation goin' with the guy. Easier with Porthos, believe me. In the end Vanek made some snooty remark on how he'd never been interested in Humans. I thought the Capt'n was gonna club him on the head."

"He would have probably broken the club," Malcolm said flatly.

They were both sharing a laugh when they came out into the main corridor and bumped right into the very man.

"Lieutenant," Archer said, warm green eyes assessing. "I'm glad you're back in one piece."

"I'm fine, Sir, thank you," Malcolm replied, snapping to attention.

In the matter of a second he had switched back to the formal Officer. But now Trip knew for sure that there was a light streak in there, behind that serious exterior. Might take a while to get it to the surface, but it was something else that promised to be interesting to do, in the months to come.

Archer clasped a hand to his Lieutenant's arm, and Trip smiled at the scene: the Captain, nice and relaxed, relieved that everything had turned out okay; Malcolm, totally knocked off balance, expecting a dressing-down and getting a pat on the head.

"Maybe you should make a small detour to Sickbay, just to make sure," Archer said. He pulled a lopsided smirk. "If only to see what Phlox stuck on Travis's knee; he says it'll put him back on his two feet in no time, but it's a sight."

Malcolm stretched his neck uncomfortably. "Begging your pardon, Captain, I'd rather scrub the plasma conduits clean than see the Doctor's strange creatures at work."

"Give the man a break, Capt'n," Trip interceded. "It's not that long since Malcolm was in Phlox's hands himself."

"Right, I had forgotten," Archer said, with an amused frown.

"Captain, I…" Malcolm averted his gaze. "I apologise for my… _artistic touch_ to Travis's creation, out there. I hope Captain Vanek wasn't offended."

The green eyes twinkled. "Vulcans, I am told, are incapable of feeling offended."

Malcolm cleared his throat. "I will have my report ready for you before tonight, Sir."

"No rush, Lieutenant." Archer's frown took on a mellow quality. "There's only about one hour before the end of your shift and I'm sure you're quite tired. So, why don't you take the rest of the evening off; you can write your report first thing tomorrow morning."

Malcolm took a second to react to that.

"Thank you, Sir," he finally blurted out.

"Good." Archer started along the corridor. "Oh, and, Malcolm…" He stopped and turned, green eyes slightly troubled. "I think we can leave out the part about… Travis's _creation_ and your _artistic touch_," he said, breaking into a forced smile.

Trip saw a blush creep up Malcolm's neck.

"Aye, Sir."

"God knows there are enough awkward incidents to report about, today," Archer muttered to himself, resuming his course.

They watched him disappear around the next bend. Trip turned to Malcolm. The poor man looked totally confused.

"I don't think you'll get an official reprimand in your file this time, Lieutenant."

Malcolm let out a soft huff. "I guess not," he breathed out in disbelief.

"Not _this_ time," Trip stressed, teasingly.

There was a pause.

"Pity," Malcolm came back, very seriously. "I suppose I'll have to try much harder."

Trip shot him a look and got the flash of a grin.

Well, well. His own exploring had been rather satisfying today. He had taken a peek at a couple of new worlds that he planned to study in depth.

Coming down with one hand on Malcolm's back, heavily enough to make the man stumble, he propelled them both along the corridor.

"Now that's what I call the right attitude, Lieutenant," he said with a chuckle.

THE END

I'll be grateful for any comment.

P.S. I suddenly think I might have read the idea of Archer relaying the picture of the snowman through the ship in some other fic, but I'm not sure. If indeed it was already used, I hope the author won't mind. It was unintentional.


End file.
